


Show us where you live.

by JohnHHolliday (Methleigh)



Category: 19th Century US RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Methleigh/pseuds/JohnHHolliday





	Show us where you live.

John does not live anywhere, in specific. The railroad hotels he prefers and fancies vary from town to town. The rooms are strange, yet familiar. The only things that are the same are his trunk open at the foot of the bed and the variety of his own small items that anchor him to himself. Yet, each contains the essential elements that differ mainly in the forms of scrolled or inlaid woodwork, the painting on the china, the pattern of the wallpaper, the design woven into the thick carpets, the samples of cloth presented in the quilts.

Prolific, he always asks for a room with a desk. Often unable to sleep lying down, he always asks for a room with a comfortable chair. There is always a bed with a high headboard above him with parquet or carved spirals and rolls. The footboard always matches it, in dark old wood, oiled to a smooth richness. Mahogany is his favourite. 

There is always a washstand with a large leaded mirror, often oval, that sometimes tilts on pivots. On this is set an ewer of water and matching bowl. John taps it with his nail and lays out his toiletries - his soap and razor, his cream and toilette water, the brush and comb, his toothglass, toothbrush and silk floss. There are towels provided, but John also carries his own should they prove to be of inadequate quality - fine linen with openwork at the lower edge. He is scrupulously clean and bathes each day, though it is regarded as an eccentricity that borders on the fanatical. If he must be diseased, he will not be repugnant.

There is an armoire for his clothing and he fills it upon arrival, hanging the fine woollen suits, the linen shirts, the silk waistcoats, his ties, all tidily to prevent wrinkles. If the trip has rumpled them beyond this, he hires a woman to iron them. He folds his other garments in the drawers beneath it.

John likes the bed, the smooth slightly starched white linen, the pillows at his back, at his head. He always asks for extra pillows as well. And he likes the weight of thick woollen blankets, of heavy wool-stuffed quilts, especially in winter, even in fever. They comfort him, let him almost imagine he is being held as they wrap around his body.

The windows open to cool the room in summer, and then he likes to lean out and look into the night. In winter the transom folds open under its fancy mouldings to allow heat and warmth into the room. Sometimes there is a fire right in the room, but that is rare. 

There is a light he leaves burning on the table with the wick turned down low. Sometimes, in Denver for instance, there is gas laid on and the light is brighter, softer, warmer. But that is rare also.


End file.
